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But something tells me that Chastity’s not just any woman. Her innocent seductiveness is a stark contrast to Karla’s brittle beauty.
Chastity has more curves than straight lines. Lush. She has the kind of body that would envelop my hard edges as I sink inside her. All wrapped in an emerald green dress that matches her eyes and contrasts with her smooth, pale skin and the copper curls shining beneath the chandelier in the center of the room.
Her finger disappears into her mouth as she sucks the last bit of icing from the tip.
I swallow a tortured groan, biting the inside of my cheek and discretely tugging at the front of my suit jack to ensure it covers my engorged cock.
Seven. Fucking. Years.
And Chastity Harper is smashing through the walls of my self-inflicted celibacy with one lick of her dainty finger.
What would it be like to peel that witchy dress from her body and dine on her sumptuous flesh? Honest curves. Intriguing dimples. Silky-soft skin. The weight of her warm thighs testing the strength of my shoulder as she comes on my mouth. The sensation of her tight cunt, her wet, intimate flesh, as I slide into paradise.
Chastity looks around guiltily before bending to pluck another cupcake from the buffet table, giving me a view of her generous cleavage. Sweet Christ, those tits would tempt a priest. A trickle of sweat slides from my nape into my shirt collar as I imagine the scent and taste of the channel of flesh between them.
Her eyes flicker around the room as she bites into the soft pillow of sponge cake, widening as they meet mine. A bolt of lust lights up my groin as I fall into those verdant pools, and a primitive part of me growls, mine.
Dragging my gaze away, I force myself into motion. I stroll casually around the room, checking for any potential threat while checking in with the rest of the team via our comms.
As I circle back toward the buffet table, I see Chastity stumble on the hem of her dress. She lets out an unladylike squeak and topples backward. I’m moving before I know it, catching her before she hits the ground.
She looks up at me, breathless, her hands fisted in the lapels of my jacket as she clings to me. “Thank you.”
Her voice has a husky quality that does nothing to ease the throbbing in my groin. My gaze flickers to her chest, where her dress has shifted, and one large, creamy breast is about to pop free.
The urge to lower my head and bite that succulent globe is almost overwhelming. All the moisture leaves my mouth as I swallow and drag my gaze back to her wide green eyes.
I clear my throat and point at her chest, determined to keep my eyes trained on hers. “Your dress…”
“Shit,” she whisper yells, tugging at the bodice and quickly covering her glorious flesh.
Once she’s steady on her feet, I release her, trying to ignore my turgid arousal twitching and straining behind my suit pants.
I stand in front of her, shielding her from the others in the room as she straightens her dress and gathers her composure.
“You got it?” I ask, looking at the ceiling.
“Yes. Thank you,” she says softly, her cheeks blooming with embarrassment. “I’m not usually so clumsy, but then I don’t usually wear three-inch heels and formal dresses.”
“What do you usually wear,” I hear myself asking.
If she thinks it’s an odd question, she doesn’t show it. “Pants, sweaters, sneakers. Something comfortable and, um, less revealing.” She tugs at the split in her dress that reaches her hip, revealing an expanse of pale thigh.
The fact that she’s not comfortable in the seductive dress only increases her appeal. I want her spread out naked on my bed, her ripe flesh displayed for my eyes only as I chart every dip and swell with my mouth.
Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?
“…tried the cupcakes? My appetite for sweet things is insatiable,” Chastity is saying.
Insatiable. Like my unexpected, ravenous desire for this woman.
My skin is sensitive. Hot. This is dangerous. This woman is dangerous. Some part of me knows she could easily breach my defenses and slip under my skin.
No. I’m not that man anymore, the one who thought he deserved a wife, a home, and kids. My ex-fiancée cured me of those dreams and taught me that women are manipulative liars.
Not this one.
The thought whispers through my mind. I’m not sure how I know it, but this woman doesn’t have a manipulative bone in her body. Which only makes her more dangerous.
